


A Late Presentation

by SouthronWildling



Series: Eighth Year A/B/O Shenanigans [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU Canon Divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, PWP, Severus Snape Lives, slight dub-con due to a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthronWildling/pseuds/SouthronWildling
Summary: Draco Malfoy presents as an omega during his Hogwarts Eighth Year.Shameless PWP, with a little humor, a little fluff, and a little of Draco being bitchy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Eighth Year A/B/O Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718518
Comments: 89
Kudos: 737





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally got a new laptop, only to find that my muse had fled. So here's a filthy little a/b/o story I wrote to try to jumpstart my writing process.

“That isn’t possible. You must be mistaken,” Draco drawled, staring up at Madam Pomfrey from his bed in the hospital wing. His tone was belied by the anxiety in his eyes and forehead.

“I’m afraid it’s entirely possible, Mr. Malfoy, and in fact, the only explanation for your symptoms. Not to mention, the scanning spell was quite positive. Light blue indicates omega, and you saw it yourself.” The mediwitch took a deep breath and continued in a kindlier voice, “Come now, this can’t have been a complete shock, surely? You’re rather late to present, but given the stresses of the past few years, that’s hardly a surprise, and you did have some of the characteristics even in your fourth year here.”

Draco stared at her, shaking his head. No, this could not be happening. He could not be an omega, and he certainly could not be an omega going into first heat, and he _most certainly_ could not be an omega going into first heat at Hogwarts where the only alphas available to assist would be--

“Wait. Send me home. I obviously cannot stay here in this condition!”

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “If you had come in yesterday, it might have been accomplished, but in your current state, it wouldn’t be safe for you to leave the hospital wing, much less go through the castle and across the grounds to the nearest apparition point. You’d be attacked. As it is, I’d wager we have less than an hour for you to decide on an alpha before the heat haze completely sets in… You do know how this works, don’t you? I don’t recall you being in secondary sexual education a few years ago.”

“It...I… yes, I understand how it works, I had a pureblood’s education, after all, I just thought I was a beta.” Draco covered his face with his hands, then pushed his hair out of his face. “First heat rarely results in pregnancy, right? I don’t want to have a baby yet. And who here is an alpha that could help?”

“No, a pregnancy this time would be statistically extremely rare. As for alphas, as you are of age, they would need to be as well. That does narrow the choosing field quite a bit, I’m afraid. Among your classmates, only Ron Weasley and Harry Potter would qualify, although I do believe Mr. Weasley is not as flexible and prefers women. Harry has helped both a female omega and a male one in the past, however.”

Draco was staring at her, what little color he had draining from his face completely.

“Or,” she continued, “If you prefer someone more experienced, if you will, Professor Snape is on the list of alpha volunteers. Hagrid is as well, but I don’t think he’d be appropriate for a first heat. Or,” she went on as Draco started to choke and splutter, “it’s possible we could contact George Weasley at his shop and get him here a bit late for the very start of your haze, but within time.”

“Blaise. Firecall Blaise Zabini, he’d--”

“He’s in Italy, Mr. Malfoy. There wouldn’t be time to set up the necessary international portkeys and floos,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “If he’s a suitor, you may consider setting up such conveniences for when your cycle regulates, if you decide against suppressants in future.”

Draco took a deep breath and found it difficult to do even that. His stomach cramped again and he knew he’d need the lav again soon, and it was so hot in the hospital wing, and the gown he’d been made to wear was itching and chafing around the arm seams. The entire situation was intolerable.

“Fine. Weasley is right out. I won’t have my first time with a straight bloke. Nor with my godfather, so Professor Snape is out, and I won’t even consider that half-giant oaf. Which leaves Potter and the one-eared Weasel, neither of which are remotely suitable. So I suppose contact them both. It’s not like I have any choice in the matter.”

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy, although I assure you, it’s not such a dire tragedy. Natural process! Now, let’s get you set up in a secure heat room, and one or the other will be along shortly to assist you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was sitting outside, staring at the lake, when the small owl fluttered down beside him. He plucked the scroll from the owl’s leg and unfurled it. 

  
  


_Mr. Potter,_

_I must call on your discretion as an alpha volunteer and request your presence in the hospital wing for the next few days, beginning as soon as possible. Heat haze is imminent, so please do come quickly. An omega (previously thought to be beta) is experiencing his first heat and is rightfully unsettled. I urge you to look past any previous interactions in the interim, as all other alpha options have been declined._

_Kind Regards,_

_Madam Pomfrey_

  
  


Harry read it through twice, and then narrowed his eyes, wondering who had suddenly presented as omega, and why only he would be presented as an option. Usually three or four alphas would be sent before the omega in question and it would be a matter of compatible scents. It was very weird. He dug in his bag, pulled out a self-inking quill, and scribbled on the back of the note that had been sent to him.

_ Mme Pomfrey, _

_ I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please send Kreacher to collect the omega’s pillow and blankets, and any other comfort items which may be helpful, in the meantime. I should shower first, but I’ll be there in half an hour if not less. _

_ -HP _

Harry stroked the owl’s head. “You’re very fast, but I’m afraid this can’t even wait for wings. Kreacher!”

A CRACK as the house-elf appeared, and Kreacher was staring up at him. Harry thrust the rolled up scroll at him.

“Here. You take this to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, and then anything she needs you to collect, you bring to her, and don’t dawdle about. Alright?”

Kreacher took the scroll and disapparated with a CRACK that echoed back across the lake. The small owl ruffled its feathers and then flew back towards the owlery tower. Harry stood up, brushed off his robes, and then started back to the castle at a brisk pace. 

His hair was still wet when he knocked on Madam Pomfrey’s door some twenty minutes later. She ushered him in and he frowned and took a seat when prompted. This was the third time since school had resumed that he had been called upon for alpha assistance, but the first two times had been nothing like this, and he was confused and her uncertain demeanor was doing nothing for him.

“So, Harry, how have you been?” she asked.

“Well enough,” he answered. “Someone went into heat unexpectedly? Your letter sounded like an emergency.”

“Well, yes. A pureblood male has entered an initial omega estrus completely unprepared. We ran the list of potentials, but after all was said and done, you were the only alpha left on the list. So it's either you assist him, or he must try it alone, but you know how painful and problematic that can be. But it remains your choice, course.”

“Alright. So who went into heat?” Harry asked, perturbed.

“Draco Malfoy.”

Harry’s brain short-circuited for a moment and went entirely blank. This was followed by an overload of images of Malfoy, both good and bad, as Harry tried and failed to cope with the idea of Draco Malfoy, of all people, presenting as omega and needing someone like him to help. That was followed by several absolutely filthy mental images of what Draco as omega, might be like. Harry shoved those down (and told his prick to stop twitching) and took a fortifying deep breath.

“Does he know it’ll be me that comes in? I don’t want him to freak out.”

“He knows it will be either you or one other. I don’t think he’ll respond in hysterics, but we do have safeguards in place.”

“Alright….. Did Kreacher bring his pillows and stuff? He’ll be wanting a nest, and Draco will want a really nice one, being Draco and all, like really nice…,” Harry trailed off.

“Yes, it’s all just there,” Pomfrey said, indicating a small pile of pillows and blankets in the corner. “He’s in the second room, when you’re ready. I’ll be in the corridor to spell it closed when you go in.”

Harry got up and started rubbing the pillows and blankets piled in the corner against his scent glands, pressing hard and rubbing the fabrics vigorously. There wasn’t a lot of time to be wasted, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco was hot.

He knew it wasn’t actually that hot in the room he’d been ushered into. That room would be no warmer or cooler than any he’d been accustomed to in the years he’d been at Hogwarts, all of which had been a more or less comfortable 19 to 25C. The hospital wing had never been any different. But ohh, he was so hot and this room was so uncomfortable.

It wasn’t that it was stuffy. No, there was airflow from several vents and there were nice cross-drafts that he’d felt. There was a bed in one corner of the room, with sheets that were softer than what were provided in the main room of the hospital wing, and the duvet was fluffy and filled with down, and the duvet cover was cotton with a smooth finish, and he’d taken off the hospital gown after he’d used the lav and buried himself in the sheets and fluffy covers and the feather pillows that he’d piled up around himself for added protection, and he’d piled the covers up as well. It was handy that the covers seemed to duplicate themselves when he needed them to, and the bed being in the corner was convenient as well, and he’d built himself a sort of nest on the bed without even really having to think about it. But his nest wasn’t right, for all that he’d worked hard on it. It wasn’t complete. It didn’t smell right, and so it wasn’t completely safe, and so HE wasn’t safe, and the whole endeavor was making him very nervous.

When the door opened, he dove into the nest and pulled the blankets over him in a protective measure, but after he heard the door snick shut again and waited to hear nothing further, he peeked out once more. Sheets, blankets, and pillows were in a tangle by the door, but nothing else about the room had changed. Draco got up and collected them, smelling himself and recognizing them as originally belonging to his bed in the Slytherin dungeons, but the scent was slightly different, there was an underlying scent of grass, or hayfields, that he couldn’t quite place. He wove them into his nest and lay down once more, more comfortable with his own things than the hospital-provided ones. 

He pulled the covers over his head when he heard the door open and shut once more, but aside from some slight rustling noises, nothing changed. He was still hot, and the duvets were stifling, but he didn’t want to come out from them either (not naked as he was). He felt irritated, unsettled. The fabrics seemed to prick at his skin and he wanted without knowing what it was that would satisfy.

“Malfoy. Are you thirsty? I have water here, and there’s a … cheese… platter thing.”

Potter. Potter was in the room with him, and he lifted his head out of the nest, out of the pile of blankets and sheets, long enough to examine the other man and the food beside him.

He sneered.

“Give me a bottle of Perrier. Good grief, don’t you know a charcuterie board when you see one? Or actually, that’s partially a charcuterie board and partially a tapas platter.” He took the bottle of sparkling water and watched Potter try to put together some bread, cheese, and meat, and shook his head.

“No! See how the breads are different? You can put the soft cheeses on the soft breads, right? But you don’t put hard on soft, and the same goes for the meats. The bread is the base, and it goes from there. This isn’t arithmancy! Merlin, were you raised by wolves? Look, put that goats cheese, and that olive spread, on that cured meat there. Yes, that one. And make me one, too. See?”

He took the two bites worth of tapas, followed it with sparkling water, and then lay back in the nest. It was so hot. He drank more of the water.

“Malfoy? Do you know why I’m here?”

“Better call me Draco at this point, I think. I won’t have much propriety left soon, so first name basis. Fix me another little bite, alright?” he asked, rolling over onto his stomach. “Yes, of course, I know why you are here. Saviour of the wizarding world, you’ve come to rescue me from omega heat.” 

Potter snorted. “I wouldn’t say I was rescuing anyone, but I’ll feed you a bit and help with your heat. Here, I did this one the same as the other,” he said, offering a small piece of baguette with chevre and an olive spread. Draco took it and ate it, then followed it with a swig of his Perrier.

“You left off the pancetta.”

“Well, you never expected me to be perfect. It’s me, after all. And it wasn’t pancetta, anyways.”

“Some kind of cured meat, and--”

“Draco. What do you want?”

The question swirled in his mind like a whirlpool. He took another sip from the Perrier bottle, but it wasn’t helping. His skin was prickling and he felt like he might explode. It would ruin tapas hour. 

“Potter. Why are you here, really?”

“Because you need an alpha with you. Really, we don’t ever have to talk later if you don’t want to. But I put my name down for the list, so I’m here, and you’re here now, so you can quit fighting it as soon as you like.”

Draco closed his eyes and felt the slightly drunk sensation wash over him. He was still so hot, so very hot, and the nearby presence of alpha was overpowering his thoughts. He considered the situation. It was ridiculous, the idea of him and Potter of all people, but he was a little tired, and a little bit confused, and he wanted something, and he itched, and _it was so hot._

  
“Fine,” he said, prickly as ever, wrapping a sheet around himself as he stood up. “Fine. Scent my nest while I’m in the lav, then.”

When Draco returned from the bathroom, his nest smelled entirely different.

It wasn’t a bad sort of different, or even a good sort of different, but it was a different that he felt deep in his bones and couldn’t ignore. It smelled different in a way that was fundamental to the very cells that formed his muscles and skin and he didn’t know how to approach it at first. It was his nest, after all; he should be able to approach his own nest, he should be able to bury himself in his own nest and sleep without any qualms. But his nest smelt foreign and he had no one to blame but himself. 

_Potter_ was all over his nest. 

Well, his scent was, anyway. Draco wasn’t sure where he’d gone; he’d been sitting near the food when Draco excused himself. Now, he took another drink of the Perrier and then climbed back into the nest and drew the sheet back over his head. The hayfield smell was stronger, definitely a hayfield, Draco had been on Halloween hayrides when he was still a little boy, long before Hogwarts, back when his father wasn’t in Azkaban and his mother wasn’t-

Hayfields, and brooms, the stout, waxed scent of the handle and the wilder, woodsier scent of the twigs. Oh, and apples. Apples were very good, tart sweet and crisp. He wished he had an apple. Or the Perrier, that would be good, but he didn’t feel like searching for the bottle, and it was so hot, and he flung the duvets and blankets back against the raised edges of his nest and wrapped the light sheet around himself and turned onto his stomach, drawing his legs underneath himself as another cramp hit. This one was different; it felt deeper and sharper, and he keened as it peaked and then began to ebb.

“Draco? Oh cripes,” he heard, and then Potter’s hand was on his upper back and he flinched.

“Don’t touch me, Potter,” he tried to snarl, but it came out more as a groan and was muffled by the pillow, besides. Ohh, it hurt. _Hurt._

But the hand returned, higher, massaging into the crook where his neck met his shoulder, and it felt like something inside him gave way, somehow, and some of the anxiety bled away with it. “I kind of have to touch you, you know, for this to work,” Potter said, and Draco wanted to make a scathing comeback to that, but another cramp was starting, sharp and twisting deep in his belly, and he wasn’t sure if the pillow his face was pressed into was damp from sweat or from tears, and the sound that escaped his mouth was closer to a shriek than he wanted. The hand was massaging again, and the pain began to recede. Mostly.

“Draco, do you think you could take a shower? It would help cool you off; I know it’s a heat, but you’re too hot by half. It’ll help.”

Shower? Draco was obviously dying, and he was supposed to take a shower? Potter must be out of his mind, that was the only explanation, and the apples in the sheets were making the bed lumpy even if it did smell good, but it was so hot, and the hay was itchy, and another cramp was starting but it wasn’t as bad as the last one at least, and distantly he could hear rainfall, rain tapping on the windows of his bedroom in the Manor, but he was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, wasn’t he?

“C’mon, Draco, up you go, slow and easy.”

Hands were helping him up and he staggered a little, stared right into Potter’s eyes, then turned and lurched towards the bathroom where the rain - shower - was already running. He stepped under the spray and almost immediately backed out, right into Potter’s chest. 

“Nope, back under the water. It’ll help, really. Do you need help?”

“Too cold.”

“It’s a bit over lukewarm, actually. It’s just that you’re so hot. Go on in, you’ll feel better in a moment. Get your hair good and wet.”

Draco was slicking his wet hair back away from his face when it occurred to him that he’d lost the sheet he’d been wearing at some point, and that he was doing what Potter had told him to do, and he wanted to be bothered by it, but he just wasn’t. He glanced around, but Potter had apparently left the ensuite at some point. Another cramp started but it was a pale mockery of what he’d experienced earlier, and just left him feeling achy and unsettled, and somewhat turned on. He let the cold water (no matter what Potter had said, this wasn’t warm water at all) wash over his cock and balls, willing the feeling away, before he did a cursory washup with the unscented soaps available. He’d turned the shower off and was wrapping a towel around his hips when Potter stuck his head in the door.

“Feeling a bit better?”

“I believe so, but then I believed it was raining in here, earlier,” he said, grabbing another towel to dry his hair. “Where did you go? I could have fallen and broken my neck, you realize, the state I was in.”

“Tidied up a little. Spelled the pillows and sheets dry, and fixed the blankets. You had them twisted all over."

Draco stared at him in horror. "You messed with my nest?! What are you, a cretin? Everyone knows you don't mess with an omega's nest," but the last syllables faded into nothingness as he ran back into the bedroom and stared at the bed, where the most perfect nest ever was arranged on the bed, with the blankets and duvets piled up in an oval and the pillows arranged perfectly and the sheets draped around and across it. Draco sniffed, and the combined scents of honey, jasmine, citrus and sandalwood combined with hayfields, brooms, apples. He pulled the towel off his head and gave his hair a rub, then tossed the towel into the corner. "It's passable," he said, throwing a sheet out the way so that he could sit in the middle of it, still with the other towel around his hips and suddenly very aware of the fact that he was naked. He wanted to lay down and rub himself all over the sheets, and he felt the confusion from earlier edging back, but he took a deep breath and tried to focus.

"You're welcome," Potter said. He plonked himself down on the edge of the bed, outside of the mound of blankets that edged Draco's area. "You're feeling better?"

"It was a bit like Blaises's birthday, for a while, minus the headache and adding stomach cramps." At Potter's confused look, he continued, "Zabini? I drank too much at his party, way too much. That's kind of what it's like. No one ever said anything about the stomach cramps, either. Thought I was a beta, anyways."

"Mmm. Stuff has to rearrange, inside. Difference between shagging a bloke and an omega in heat. Shouldn't be so bad for you next time around. At least, that's what the books say. You don't still feel drunk?" 

"Maybe tipsy, but not drunk like before. Still a bit itchy, though. Uncomfortable in a weird way."

"Good. Listen, we don't have much time. If you don't want me here, I'll go. Just say the word. You can do this by yourself if you want to. What I don't want, is for you to go through this heat with me, and then feel like you were coerced or something. It'll be hard by yourself, but I don't want to force myself on you, just for heat's sake, you know? And then you feeling bad over it all. We've already seen each other at our worst. No need to add this to it, too."

Draco thought about sectumsempra. He thought about Potter Stinks badges. A handshake refused. An identity withheld, and the muggleborn's screams. Imitating dementors. "You won't hurt me?" and he felt ashamed at how small his voice was. He bent his head down.

The hand that rested against his neck and shoulder and rubbed was a surprise, albeit a calming one. Draco looked up.

"No, Draco, I won't hurt you. But you'll have to let me touch you."

\--

\--

"Alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for having read this far.
> 
> Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here.
> 
> Yeah, all the porn. So if that's not cool with you, you've read a lovely vignette of Draco/Harry, and that's lovely.. And otherwise, well. The next two chapters are porn with feelings and if you decide to continue, that's on you. And on me, for writing it, but I'm okay with it. Just don't yell at me for it after. I'm telling you here what to expect.


	4. Chapter 4

“So, what happens now?” Draco asked.

Harry handed him a fresh bottle of sparkling water. “I guess now we wait for your symptoms to ramp up. You’re still cramping?” At Draco’s nod, he nodded back. “They’ll ease off, but they won’t really stop until you’ve been knotted a few times, and it’s better not to jump straight to that. It messes with the hormones, or something, unless you’re bonded. Er… not to be gauche, or whatever, but I kind of expected you to be hornier at this point. Are you feeling it at all?”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at him and sipped his water. “I’m eighteen, Potter, I’m always a bit ready, if you will. Maybe a bit more than usual at the moment, but nothing uncontrollable.”

“It will be, later, you know. Uncontrollable, I mean.”

Draco grimaced and leaned forwards over his legs as another cramp struck, and Harry rubbed his shoulders as he’d been taught to do for these situations. He kneaded the scent glands gently and waited, and a few moments later, Draco calmed and sat back up.

“I suppose,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Or else, they wouldn’t have systems like this in place. You said earlier, it’s the difference between shagging a bloke and an omega. Have you shagged a lot of blokes and omegas?”

Draco was wearing his posh face and voice, imperious and demanding, if a little quieter than usual. Harry bit his lip and then gave him a crooked grin. “Well, I wouldn’t say a lot, but enough to know the difference. I’m not going to kiss and tell, though. You wouldn’t want me telling tales about you, after all, and I wouldn’t do that either.”

“There will be,” Draco retorted, “no kissing at all. And certainly no telling after the fact.” He nodded after making this proclamation and took another drink of water.

Harry almost laughed, but the serious look on Draco’s face stopped him. He leaned back a little and studied the omega’s body language the way the short seminar he’d taken on omegan heats had instructed (it was meant to be a how-to course, but Harry had found that short of a few useful techniques like massaging the scent glands, it was fairly useless). Draco was still sitting cross-legged in his nest, still only wearing the towel he’d wrapped around his waist after his shower. He had to be feeling at least a little less inhibited, considering he’d covered himself head to shin in the sheets earlier, but he didn’t seem to even realize it. The towel was even tented a little. Not much, and Draco didn’t seem to be rubbing against it or anything, but it was obvious he wasn’t completely unaroused. What was obvious, however, was that Draco was intent on fighting his instincts every step of the way.

“The details are protected under a variant of the Fidelius charm, so I wouldn’t be able to divulge anything even if I wanted, but I wouldn’t want to, anyways. It’s private, right? Anyone who trusts me enough to let me share their heat… I’m not about to betray that trust, even if there wasn’t a spell in place. Also… like, I grew up Muggle; I didn’t even know about Alphas and Betas and Omegas until last year. It’s not like we took a class on it, or anything, and Muggles don’t have anything like this. You thought you were Beta. So it’s… we’ve both got some information, and a lot of gaps, so we’ll do our best but I don’t think we should immediately start saying something is off the table when we don’t know exactly what to expect. We should just do what feels good and not be embarrassed, because it’s just biology, you know?”

Draco was staring at him, twin splotches of pink riding high on his cheeks. “So you’re just going to do what feels good, then?”

“No! I’m saying for  _ you  _ to do what feels good. I’m here to assist you, remember? I don’t want you to not kiss me or not do something because you decided early on you wouldn’t, if it would help. That would just prolong and complicate your heat. And I don’t want you to get upset about it later, because let’s face it, you and I are going to get very up close and personal and a few days from now, I’d rather you were okay with it than upset and throwing hexes in my direction!”

Draco’s ears were red and the splotches on his cheeks had deepened in color, but the fingers around the neck of the Perrier bottle were almost white. Harry watched him take a few breaths, almost start to speak before stopping, and then finally double up as another cramp hit. He pressed his left thumb against a scent gland and used his right to run up and down Draco’s spine, waiting for it to ease up. When it did, he came to a decision and accioed a small pot of unscented oil.

“Here,” he said, getting up and crossing over the boundary ring of Draco’s nest to sit behind him. “Turn a bit so you can lay down if you want. Alright. I’m going to rub your back. If you want something, just say, or if I do something you don’t like, say that too. Just your back.”

Draco didn’t answer, but he did turn in the nest, and he didn’t complain about Harry being in the nest with Draco, and Harry drizzled the oil over Draco’s back and began to stroke it over his skin, pressing over the scent glands at the junction of neck and shoulder before stroking downwards, around his shoulder blades and alongside his spine. He stopped just above the edge of the towel, which had dipped just enough to show a small dimple on either side, just above Draco’s arsecheeks, and then slid his hands upwards again. His heated skin seemed to make the oil more slippery, and as Harry massaged his lower back, and then muscles further upwards, Draco seemed to relax more and more until finally he was laying flat on the bed with his legs stretched out near Harry’s thighs where he knelt, and the towel around his hips was rucked up a little but still covering him.

Harry dug his thumbs in, releasing knots along Draco’s spine just below his neck and then smoothed the muscle to press against his scent glands to hear Draco sigh.

“Y’doin tha on purpose, nknow.”

“It’s meant to relax you, yes. Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm. Thingso. Wanna come though.” Draco wriggled a bit then, hips shifting and rolling against the bed beside Harry’s legs. He tensed as another cramp rolled through him, legs shifting so that his arse came upwards and Harry pressed against his lower back, easing the muscles, before he relaxed and laid flat again.

“Do you want to roll over? Or stay that way?”

Draco rolled over and grabbed his left arm. “Potter, what did you… Oh Merlin, what,” he gasped.

Harry rubbed an oil-covered hand over his erection. “You want to come?” He pressed and then stroked upwards, careful of the foreskin so as not to over-stretch, and then pulled again. “Like that?”

Draco keened and thrust his hips upwards. “Please. I want. I have to. Please.”

Harry stroked him slowly, with firm pressure, watching Draco react to the stimulation. He was almost writhing, and Harry slipped his left hand between Draco’s legs in exploration. Draco was thrusting up into his hand, though, again and again, and almost keening over it, before he groaned and doubled up as another cramp assaulted him.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he said, massaging into Draco’s neck.

“No, please, Harry, do the thing, please, you know, do the thing,” he groaned.

Harry let his fingers do the talking and stroked one up and in. Draco was producing copious amounts of slick and his finger slid in without any resistance at all and he slid it over Draco’s prostate. 

“Ohh-oh-oh!” he cried as he ejaculated into the sheets and left his body.

Harry smiled and inserted a second finger and began to rub and stretch his entrance. By the time Draco was cognizant again, he was three fingers deep and stimulating Draco’s prostate only occasionally as it suited him. He shifted and spelled more lube and thrust his fingers in gently, and felt the omega thrum and then clamp down as another cramp hit. 

“You want more?” Harry asked.

“Please. Please make it stop. Please, alpha, please!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original draft was five chapters. I apologize, but it has expanded.
> 
> In other news. I have one comment, first chapter, looking optimistically towards the future (and me commenting back).
> 
> Can I get a little feedback here? Like, not to sound too needy, but if you are enjoying this, please give me a little feedback, Seriously, it would be helpful.

If Draco had been fully aware of the words that had just left his mouth, he might have been mortified. As it was, he pleaded and begged and writhed and didn’t think twice about it. Some distant, disconnected part of his mind thought, _heat haze,_ and he supposed that must be what this was, but he found he couldn’t really care. All that seemed important was the overwhelming need, and the fabrics prickling against his hot skin, and the slight burn and delicious friction as Potter rubbed him, rubbed into him, and began to stroke his cock again, as well. _Harry Potter is wanking me off,_ drifted through his thoughts.

Draco laughed; he couldn’t help it anymore than he could help the moan that followed as Potter pressed a sensitive spot inside, massaging it much as he’d done Draco’s neck. It felt brilliant, but not quite enough and he keened and thrust up into Potters tight fist and then back down against his fingers. He was babbling again.

“No, Draco, I can’t yet. You can come like this for me. Come again, just like this, such a pretty omega all worked up. So very good.”

Potter’s voice was close to his ear and then his lips were tracing a line down Draco’s throat. A small frisson of alarm warred with the almost excruciating arousal, a fear that registered as _teeth! bite! bond!_ but Harry was gentle as his mouth pressed against Draco’s neck and although he licked the sensitive skin and sucked the tendons closer to the surface, his teeth never made contact. Draco melted into it, as the praise and the sucking sensation combined with the pull on his cock and the insistent press inside, and the feeling built up once again until it crested and he was shuddering as the pleasure washed through him and pulsed out of him for the second time.

He drifted for a bit, after, gradually aware that he was thinking a bit more clearly even as he realized that Harry had wiped his stomach off with the towel that had been around his waist after his shower, that he had gone and returned with a warm, wet flannel that he was using to wipe him down, and that he was completely naked while … when did he become Harry, rather than Potter?... was still fully clothed except for his shoes and socks.

“Lift up a bit, love.”

Draco planted his feet and lifted his hips as Harry pulled the soiled towel out from under him and then sprawled back in his nest as Harry dried his hands, wrapped it around the flannel, and tossed the bundle into the corner to join his hair towel.

“Love, is it, now?”

“Pheromones,” Pot-Har-Potter said, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I get a bit soppy with them. I’m sure it’ll pass when you’re not scenting up the room.”

“Mmm. You have hairy toes, Harry. Shall I call you Hairy Toes Potter?” As insults went, it wasn’t his best work, but he was still half-addlepated, so he gave himself a pass.

Harry just laughed. “Hobbit feet, yeah.”

“Hobbit?”

“It’s… There’s a book series, written by a Muggle, with wizards and magical creatures. He didn’t get much correct. Good adventure stories, though. I’ll tell you a bit if you like, when we’re waiting for your heat to ramp up again. You should be good for a couple of hours now, I think.”

Draco hmmmed and stretched. He shifted himself up onto the pillows and then snagged his bottle of water from beside the bed. It was slightly flat, but he drank it anyway for the lime flavor. It tasted clean and he could almost feel the water rushing to dehydrated cells, plumping them, filling him out. It felt nice. 

“You didn’t knot me. Or bite me. Thanks for not biting me,” he said, taking another drink to avoid looking at Har-Potter.

“If I knotted you that early into a heat, it would be bad for you, or that’s what the class I took said. It could hurt you. So no, I didn’t, and I’m not going to bite you at all. A claim bite is… well, I know some people just go and do it, like, but after that class, all I could think of was what if it wasn’t right? So no, I’m not going to do that willy-nilly when someone’s in heat and I’m all alpha-driven. Bonding is too permanent to leave up to something like that.” Potter’s face was a bit red, and Draco was a little impressed. He’d be raised as a beta, but even he knew that alphas were almost biologically impelled to claim, if the opportunity struck. To knot, as well, probably. Alphas were supposed to claim and knot and impregnate, right?

“I don’t think many could stop themselves,” he said.

“It’s not unlike Imperio, and I threw that off in Fourth Year. Difficult, but not impossible.”

A flood of memories assaulted him, then, and he rolled over onto his side, away from the brunet Gryffindor that had overtaken his nest. Distantly, he wondered when he had become comfortable with showing Harry his back. He drew the platter of hors d’oevres closer and ate a shrimp concoction. He hesitated, then chose another.

“Drink some water, or something, and tell me about hobbits,” he said, eating the shrimp and looking back over his shoulder at Harry. “And take off your shirt at least.”

Draco relaxed a little as Harry stripped off his shirt and ate three of the canapes. He stiffened a little when Harry downed almost an entire bottle of Perrier at a go, gave a little burp, and then lay down beside him. But Harry didn’t pull him in or grind against him, and just held him loosely as he explained that he had read the first book but not the rest and had only watched the moovees in secret, and one was a cartoon, so he wasn’t an expert. But he would try.

“I’m sleepy,” Draco said.

“That’s okay,” he said back. “Um. In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a dank, dirty hole. Or a dry, sandy hole. It was a Hobbit hole, and that meant comfort.”

“Hole… is starting to not sound like a word.”

“Yeah, I can’t fix that. So he had a hole in a hill, and it was nice with tunnels, and his house was all cool with sitting rooms and a kitchen and a pantry full up with everything nice to eat you can think of, but it’s all in this underground house, yeah? And he’s got some windows to outside because his house is in a hill. And he sleeps in a bedroom there, and it’s a big house, but it’s all underground and comfy. 

“And then Gandalf shows up. And he’s sort of like Dumbledore, and Bilbo the hobbit is freaking out because he just wants everything to be normal. And then a bunch of dwarves show up one by one, and basically throw a party, and he's freaking out and worried they're going to break his plates…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your lovely comments, and apologies for the delay. This computer is rather slow, and frustrating, Here, have some porn.

Draco turned over in his arms and stared up at him with fever-bright eyes. “What?” Harry asked, wondering what had startled the omega so much.

“Are you sure this Tolkien was a Muggle?”

“Er… pretty sure. I mean, I never got a chocolate frog card with him on it,” Harry said, laughing a bit.

“Acromantulas captured them, were about to eat them, and you think some Muggle just dreamed that up? Pfft, hardly. He must have used a nom de plume.”

“A nom de..?”

“A false name, Potter, to keep his true identity secret. Nom de plume. It’s French,” Draco asserted. He rolled back over to grab the tray of snacks, which seemed to be refilling itself automatically ever so often with different offerings. At the moment it had cut up bits of veg, some cut up fruit, some sort of tiny pastries, and little fried things, along with several pots of sauces. Harry watched him pick up one of the fried things, dip it in a purple sauce, and eat it in one delicate bite.

“I don’t speak any French, except for the bits you pick up in general, like deja vu or au revoir.”

Draco winced, and Harry tried not to take offense. “It’s au revoir,” he enunciated, correcting Harry’s pronunciation. Harry wasn’t sure there was much difference, beyond the addition of uppity git to the accent. “Here, we have amuse bouche,” he said, waving a languid hand over the tray. “Amuse means basically the same as in English, and bouche means mouth. So something small to tickle the palate, usually served prior to a multiple course meal, or between courses, and occasionally on their own as hors d’ouevres, which means outside of the work but refers to an appetizer if you’re common. Try this,” Draco held up another of the fried things with purple sauce.

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to. Purple didn’t seem like a sauce color, for one thing. But goaded by the somewhat challenging look on Draco’s face, he took it from Draco’s fingers and popped it in his mouth.

It was crunchy, with the fried exterior, and soft inside. The sauce was slightly spicy, and sweet, and the inside was familiar, but different with the other flavors, and he was a bit confused for a moment. “Is that cauliflower?”

Draco laughed. “Could be. They’re vegetable pakoras, with a mild chutney. You’ve never had Indian or Pakistani food? I thought you took one of the Patils to the Yule Ball.”

“Parvati, yeah, but that was years ago and we didn’t talk about food. It was pretty much a disaster, actually. And my aunt and uncle didn’t allow non-British food in, usually, except for the occasional pizza for my cousin. What are those?” he asked, pointing at the pastries.

Draco gave him an odd look, and Harry felt a little uncomfortable, but then Draco was dipping one of the tiny pastries in a small pot of what looked like honey and holding it out. He shook his head when Harry reached for it, though, and he was confused until Draco brought his hand up towards Harry’s face. Their eyes met, and the heat glitter in the omega’s expression amped up his own arousal. Draco’s hair, straight and fine textured and just grazing his jawline, flicked a little as he tossed his head, and his cheeks were pinking back up as his heat mounted. Harry opened his mouth and plucked the offering from Draco’s fingers with his lips, just barely grazing his skin. He watched Draco’s breath hitch as he bit down.

It was honey, and the pastry was flakey, and the inside seemed to be a warm creamy center that he couldn’t identify, and a bit of pear that he could. It was amazing.

“Brie, that’s a French cheese, baked in puff pastry. Sometimes they put fruit in with it,” Draco said, sounding a bit breathless. Harry caught his hand and began sucking his fingertips to get the taste of the honey and the pure taste of Draco. 

“Pears,” he answered, pulling Draco’s thumbtip into his mouth. He swept his tongue around it and then let go with a soft pop.

“I think,” Draco faltered, blushing even harder in the diffuse light of the room, “that it’s getting bad again. I don’t hurt like I did earlier, but it,” he broke off as Harry scented his wrist and then sucked a kiss into the spiderweb of veins there. “It’s… I don’t… please? I can’t talk. I can’t think!”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said, pulling the omega in close and stretching out over him. He kissed from just below Draco’s ear downwards to his collarbone, then back up a bit to suck and lave over the scent gland, careful to keep his teeth from doing more than just pressing a little, just a hint, but he nearly lost it himself when Draco seemed to just fucking melt beneath him. Draco was pulling his legs up, was catching his bent legs under his arms and thrusting upwards, and he was mewling into Harry’s neck, pressing his forehead against his jaw and all but begging in his body language.

Harry was letting the head of his cock slide up and down Draco’s wet crack, relishing the smooth glide. It felt so good. At every pass, Draco’s hole was catching at his tip, seeming to grip a bit, an unconscious invitation that he was dragging out, wanting to wait until Draco’s need overrode his conscious instincts. He slid against it once more and then tested the waters, pressing inwards a tiny fraction to feel the ring of muscles give and then clamp down in defense on the slightest tip of himself, then slid back and forth again as he heard Draco gasp and felt him tense in his arms.  
“You’re alright. Your body wants this. It’s okay,” he murmured, trying to remember what to say. Remembering what to say and do with an omega wasn’t easy when their scent was filling the room and every urge in him was screaming to mount, knot, and claim. 

Draco’s eyes were almost black, so little grey shone from them, and his cheeks and ears were red, his lips as well as though he’d been well-kissed even though he hadn’t been. Harry wanted to taste him, but held back. His blush extended down his neck to his upper chest, and if Harry had been a lesser alpha, he’d have already been buried deep and probably knotted as well.

“You said, ohhh,” Draco moaned, and then panted as Harry pressed and slid against him once more. “Said you knew the difference, shagging blokes or omegas. I don’t; I never did.” He cried out again, a little higher pitched, as a cramp went through him, and he tilted his hips upwards instinctively, which brought Harry’s cock against him once more.

Oh. Oh. Harry’s cock slid upwards through the slick Draco was leaking as the words registered. Alpha instincts crowded his brain for a moment, untouched, mine, and he shoved the instincts back and tried to think rationally. “That’s alright. Just move with me. It’ll hurt and then feel good, but it won’t be anything awful. Just keep moving with me and don’t fight your instincts.”

He hoped that was good enough, and that Draco wouldn’t freak out at the pain he had mentioned. His cramps weren’t as bad as they had been, so the secondary passage had to have completely closed off the initial one by now, and there was plenty of slick. He reminded himself not to knot, and made an experimental press inwards.

Draco’s entrance seemed to accept him for a second, but then the ring of muscles clamped down and he might have been pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did. He pulled back and continued the slow slide he’d done before, waiting. He looked down at Draco’s face, which was still very flushed. Draco was staring up at him, eyes positively glittering, half-crazed with heat. He dipped his head down, kissed Draco on the cheekbone, on the jaw, kissed the corner of his mouth even though Draco had forbidden it (it wasn’t a full liplock, after all). Felt the omega relax under him. Pressed again, just slightly, and said, “It’s alright, just relax and move with me. It’s like dancing.”

He pushed, and felt the muscles give. Pushed more, and felt them part entirely. Draco gasped and then tensed in his arms as he pressed in completely, and he hugged him tightly and mouthed the scent gland in the crook of his neck as he ground his cock into the omega and then began to rock back and forth. After a moment, Draco’s tension melted and he began to move in his arms, arching into the thrusts and keening quietly.

Harry grabbed Draco’s legs and tilted him further upwards as he began to thrust harder. He tried to angle it to hit his sweet spot and smiled grimly when Draco’s moans let him know he’d done just that, and thrust in and out in abandon. Merlin, it felt so good. His knot started to swell, and he shifted to shallower thrusts, keeping the swollen base of his cock well away from Draco, pressing his knot against him occasionally but not even trying to press it inside. He angled for Draco’s prostate and reached down to fist the omegan cock with his hand. Draco keened as he came, spunk wetting his hand and Draco’s belly, and his own cock started to pulse and he came as well, groaning as he gripped his own knot and squeezed.

A small eternity later, Harry had rolled over in Draco’s nest and was still trying to gain some coherence.

“I think I want a shower,” came a small voice. He turned a bit and kissed the omega’s shoulder.

“Anything you want.”


	7. Chapter 7

Draco let the water stream down over his hair and face and told himself that the hot feeling in his eyes was just from the shower. He _wasn’t_ crying. Maybe he was leaking from his eyes a bit, but he could control that no more than he could the heat slick that was leaking from elsewhere. He shuddered. This whole omega business was just so… not degrading, that wasn’t the right word, but being a slave to one’s hormones on a quarterly basis? Leaking fluids and mindlessly driven by biological impulse? Not giving a niffler’s trinket if he was being intimate with someone that had been his nominal or sworn enemy, or oh so secret crush? 

It was positively un _couth_.

It didn’t help that Potter was being so bleeding noble about the whole affair. No, he’d expect nothing less from the blasted Gryffindor. His testimony was probably the only reason Draco and his mother weren’t in Azkaban, and he’d taken this blasé let-bygones-be-bygones stance this year at school (not friendly, but not overtly hostile, either). Draco wasn’t sure why he had taken such a stance, but Draco was too busy trying to fly under the Ministry’s notice to question it. It was safer to just go to classes, keep his head down, and hope he could earn enough NEWTS to have half a chance at a potions apprenticeship in spite of his name (no one would accept him as a Healer, he’d already resigned himself to that). He couldn’t risk biting the hand that… well, hadn’t fed him, exactly (actually, he had fed Potter, and a slightly hysterical giggle rose at that thought), but at least had made such a future possible.

But Potter didn’t care about him. This was just dogged, noble, “always do the right thing,” alpha duty, an obligation incurred from putting his name on a list in September. It didn’t mean anything at all. At least when he had fooled around some with Blaise, he’d known that it wasn’t completely empty. Blaise liked him. Or didn’t hate him, anyway. No, liked him, even if it wasn’t ever going to mean anything lasting, Blaise definitely liked him. Blaise liked when he made puns in French, and Blaise liked it when he got Blaise’s jokes in Italian, and so they could snark at the world in Romance languages, which wasn’t exactly romantic but was better than nothing.

He heard the door creak and then Potter was opening the shower door behind him.

“Are you alright? You’ve been in here a while.”

“I’m fine,” he answered, far too aware that his naked back and arse were completely exposed. He pressed his palms against the tile wall and tipped his head back under the spray.

“Um… I should probably clean up as well. Can I come in with you? Or if you’d rather, I can wait.”

He wanted to shower with him? Was Potter completely mad?

“Far be it from me to deny your right to basic hygiene,” he said, instead, and wet a flannel under the spray before stepping back and grabbing the bottle of unscented body wash that the room provided. He shuddered to think of what it was probably doing to his skin, and wished for his moisturizers. He turned away as Potter stood under the spray and began to scrub off, wondering how long it would take for his lotions and oils to repair any damage the mass-produced soap would cause. He’d likely be itchy regardless, even if his heat didn’t make his skin prickle. 

“Here,” Potter said, and before he could even voice an objection, the soapy cloth had been plucked from his hand. Potter’s hand was on his shoulder, then, and the flannel was running up and down his back, over his shoulders, the pressure firm and not at all tickley. It felt too good, and Draco wanted to sag against the cold tile walls, but he kept himself stiff and only quivered a little bit when Potter ran it over the scent glands at the base of his neck. “Alright, rinse off while I soap up,” Potter said, pushing him back under the spray as he traded places with Draco.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, watching suds run off his body. Potter was washing himself with methodical motions, arms and chest, legs and feet, then his… Draco turned around and gave his front a good rinse even though he was pretty free of soap by now.

“Felt nice, didn’t it? Did for me, too. Here, I need to rinse,” and he maneuvered Draco again, just put him where he wanted him, and Draco felt his face turn a shade of red that had nothing to do with his heat. He opened the shower door and began toweling off, then retreated back to his nest. 

****

Twice more. Draco lay in his nest, which smelled perfectly of Potter, and tried to wrap his head around what had happened. His heat had ramped up, Potter had buggered him, and it had receded. The intervals between … fits… were growing shorter, however, and his incoherence in the throes of them was growing even worse. Never, not in any of even the wildest Slytherin parties, had he ever been as drunk as the hormones made him feel, and he had never been so out of control of himself. It was insupportable.

There was always a moment of clarity, once he’d come. He had begun to hate that moment of clarity, when he’d writhe mentally in embarrassment at how needy he’d been, how he had begged, and how pathetic it was that he wanted the alpha to care for him, to actually _want_ him, to care, to _take care of him_. Har- Potter wouldn’t do that.

Except he sort of did. He pressed bottles of water into his hands, he fed him, he clasped Draco’s body against his while they dozed. He had even called Draco pretty, and hormone-drunk Draco had preened and felt like the most desirable omega in the world. Post-orgasm-sane Draco had been horrified. Not that Potter thought he was pretty, Draco knew he was pretty, but that he’d been so very happy that Potter had said so. It was absurd. It had been a crush, and biological quirks had nothing to do with that. At all.

Right now, held by strong arms that were wrapped around his body, and with his head nestled perfectly into the hollow of a shoulder, so that he could stretch up just a little to scent along the scent glands at the crux of Potter’s neck and shoulder, he could relax a little, at least. Potter always went a bit silly after he came, and wouldn’t notice anything odd. Draco took advantage of it, breathing in the heady scents that were a bit different when combined with his skin; the scents of hayfields and brooms mellowing into something that just became a feeling that he associated with curling up with a good book on a sofa under a blanket. It was nice.

“Draco?” Harry’s voice sounded hoarse, and he cleared his throat as Draco shifted against him. “I’ll probably need to knot you next time. And a few times after that. Sorry.”

He wondered at the hesitance there. What alpha wouldn’t want to knot an omega?

“Isn’t that rather the point?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, but… do you know what that’s like? I mean, you figured you were a beta and all.”

No, Draco hadn’t really spent much time thinking about that. It didn’t have anything to do with him. Alphas and omegas did what they did, and betas like him made love or just shagged and that was that.

“You’ll push in and your knot will grow, and we’ll be stuck for a bit. I don’t see what the problem is, frankly.” Draco took a sip of water and looked over at the food tray, which currently held sushi. Draco was fully in favor of sushi. He reached over and put a bit of wasabi on some nagiri and savored the results.

“I don’t want to hurt you, and that can hurt. Worse than when I took you the first time, and you didn’t seem to enjoy that at all. You’re pretty, and little, and…. I want you to be okay,” he finished under his breath.

Draco’s brain stuttered to a stop. He reviewed the first time Harry had buggered him. He’d been equally freaked out and turned on, and then Harry had pushed in, and it had felt weird and maybe a little painful but but nothing worse than a hangnail, and then he was moving and it had felt brilliant. Yes, strange, but very, very good. He shrugged.

“Biology, right? I’ll be fine. And for the record, I did “enjoy that” as you put it,” he said, dabbing soy sauce at two bites of sushi. He popped one into his mouth and held up another for Potter, quirking his eyebrow until his mouth opened and he accepted the rice and fish, forgoing the chopsticks altogether. 

***

Reality was a bit different.

Draco was exquisitely aware when it began to happen. He was very wet, and Harry was thrusting into him, rocking his hips against his pelvis in an uncompromising rhythm. He was tilting Draco’s hips with his hands, moving him around and angling him so that he could hit that excruciatingly pleasurable spot every third or fourth thrust. He was thrusting in hard, and Draco was distantly aware that the cock thrusting into him wasn’t pushing in the same way anymore. There was a new burning sensation in his arse and Harry was moving in short, jabbing thrusts, and he tried to slide backwards and away, but Harry’s hands were on his hips and he couldn’t actually go anywhere.

It was overwhelming. Draco couldn’t even think coherently about it.

One moment they were going at it, fucking, and it felt good and right and there was a cock sliding in and out of him and hitting him in all the right places and it was making his heat recede. And the next, something much larger was trying to push in, and everything in him wanted to escape it. It was too big; that was never going to fit. He scrambled, arms and legs flailing and he scraped his nails against Potter’s back and felt his heels kick into the alpha’s sides as a sound escaped his lungs, something midway between a shriek and a scream. 

**“Be still.”**

Fucking alpha voice, Draco thought, even as he stopped struggling. He felt as Potter drew his legs up even farther on his arms, and felt as the enormous protrusion rammed against him, and wanted to cry. Potter was kissing his face, his jawline, and Draco turned into it without even wanting to and met his lips. They closed over his and then parted and closed again, chaste kisses being pressed into Draco’s upper lip and he parted his lips in shock and felt a tongue caress his bottom lip then retreat.

“That’ll hurt,” he whimpered against the lips that were still pressed near his.

“Can I kiss you?” he heard, and he lifted up against the mouth pressed so close to his.

Ohhh. He was no longer being battered, down below; it had subsided back into an incessant press and slide, but the half-knot was not being shoved against him anymore, and he was grateful for that. Potter’s lips, though…

  
  


Blaise was a good kisser. Hell, Pansy had been a good kisser, if nothing else, back when Draco was still trying to figure himself out. This was something else entirely. Pot- fuck it, Harry’s lips were moving against his, and his tongue was dipping into his mouth, sliding against his tongue, and it felt too good to be believed, and he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and gave himself over into the kiss, even as the cock in his arse continued to move. And when the tongue delved and slid, and the press against his arse increased, he couldn’t find it in himself to care, and the kiss grew better, and he couldn’t breathe, and it was all so fucking wonderful, and then there was an intense, sharp, heart-stopping pain that he couldn’t even breathe through.

Draco was dying. Might be dead already.

It swelled. Draco shrieked.

Pleasure. He’d had orgasm after orgasm already but this far surpassed that; the waves of satisfaction and completion didn’t even compare in the slightest. Pain? He might have heard of such an inconvenience, but all he knew was the radiating sense of rightness and absolution he felt. It was incandescent.

Alpha, my alpha, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall I continue this? I really felt like this was a one-shot pornathon, but now I'm wondering if this AU doesn't deserve a little more consideration. Readers, please let me know what you want!


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, a short epilogue to give a little bit of closure (but still left a bit open-ended). I'm kicking around ideas for a sequel, so as soon as I've got an outline and at least three chapters written, I'll start posting. I've clicked the button to make this a series, so if you click subscribe to the series itself, you'll receive a notification when I start posting on it. (You probably already knew that, but I just figured it out a few days ago, lol.) I just have to figure out who all returned to Hogwarts, who didn't, who'll be teaching DADA and Transfiguration, and a plot that isn't completely porn-driven.

Harry pressed a kiss against the sleeping omega’s shoulder and grudgingly got up from the warm bed. He’d been awake for a while, but hadn’t wanted to move. He could tell from Draco’s scent that his heat was over.

After a quick shower, he dressed and went back into the bedroom, but Draco was dead to the world. After the last few days, Harry wasn’t surprised. He was still fairly exhausted, himself, but he knew he should be getting back to the eighth year common room to assess the enormous pile of make-up work Hermione was sure to have collected for him. It would take him forever to finish it all, now that Hermione was too busy to help him and Ron. At least Draco had never seemed to need to study as much; he’d probably be caught up in no time.

He smiled as Draco made a small noise and nuzzled his head against the pillow. He reached out and brushed his hair back away from his face and ran a thumb across one cheekbone. It was too bad Draco didn’t like him. Harry was quite sure he’d never find a more beautiful omega, and somehow he even found Draco’s pretentious attitude to be more amusing than off-putting. Maybe it was because even after everything that had happened, he was still Draco. 

Right. Time to go. He set a fresh bottle of fizzy water next to the bed so it would be in easy reach, and then quietly slipped from the room.

Madam Pomfrey was organizing her potions cabinet when Harry came into the main part of the hospital wing. “Oh, hello, dear. All went well, I take it?”

“Yes, but could I have a Pepper-Up? I have a lot of work to catch up.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned, but handed a vial to him, and then a different one. “Just the one, and I want you to take this mild sleeping draught with you, also. You’re to go to bed no later than ten, understand? Now, has Mr. Malfoy’s heat completely ended?”

Harry nodded. “His scent changed, and he’s cool to the touch. He’s still sleeping, though.”

She smiled. “That’s as it should be, then. There was no claiming?”

“I didn’t bite him,” he said, shaking his head.

“Very good. Run along to your books, then, dear. I’ll check in on Mr. Malfoy in a few hours.”

Harry headed off into the castle, but a vague sense of unease descended upon him. He hoped Draco would get enough rest.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say how blown away I was by the response this fic received. To everyone who left Kudos, who commented, who subscribed, and who bookmarked, a thousand thank yous! I'm glad you came along for the ride, and even more happy that you enjoyed it. Edited again: holy shit, this is now my highest kudosed fic. From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU!


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